


And a Little bit of Tender Mercy

by steviekat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Angst with happy throughout, Background Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Boys In Love, Everything is the same except they have daemons, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Set between ep159 and 160, So much comfort, learning to love yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24328975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steviekat/pseuds/steviekat
Summary: Jon hadn't let Martin's hand slip from his, gently steering them through the final mists of the Lonely and the press of crowds as they made their way Away, held on like it was all he'd been put here to do.They hadn't spoken about it yet.How Martin had been willing to leave his own daemon behind when he stepped in to that place.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 13
Kudos: 121





	And a Little bit of Tender Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe this has been done before, but this is my emotional support daemons au set before the apocalypse where we use daemons to force characters to work through self hatred and ultimately love themselves. 
> 
> Warning: Jon's daemon has simular/mirroring injuries to Jon himself. They do not happen in the fic and are not described in detail, but if you are sensitive to animal abuse just be wary!

There hadn’t been time after their escape from the Lonely to talk about what they had been willing to do. Junko trotted steadfast along with their half hurried pace, more confident in using her size to clear a path through the city throngs than Martin himself had ever been, but veered closer to Jon than Martin’s own side. That was fine. Better, maybe. 

It was all Martin could do to keep a desperate hold of Jon’s hand. Small and brittle and scared in his grip but so _strong._ It was at once almost too painful to bear the close contact after so long, and not nearly enough after living so long without it. If you could call the way he had been existing _living_ . He’d wanted to snatch his hand away, break the completed circuit between them and tell Jon ‘No you don’t need need to do this for me, I’m fine I’m fine _I’m fine I’m always fine_ ’ and pull him closer and beg ‘ _please_ I need you to hold me again, just for another minute, without the screaming emptiness of the Lonely, with Junko and Anvesha here with us and pressed together too.’ But he hadn’t been able to imagine saying either without breaking apart, and so they’d continued, clutching fingers the only point of contact, Junko a partially detached fog of awareness boxing Jon between them, and Anvesha’s unblinking eyes a weight as grounding as it was heavy from her perch half nestled in the nest of Jon’s hair. 

They’d learnt to read her before they could Jon. She’d been the centre of so much of their hope, especially during those turbulent early days. A half smothered purr when Martin had learnt how to make Jon’s tea _just so,_ an interested ear swivel when he’d actually managed to do his job to Jon’s exacting standards, the confident way she’d strut around Junko when Jon would so rarely unwind for a moment, despite how tiny the Rust-Spotted cat was next to the much larger dog, sure of her safety. How, even when Jon’s words were sharp and disappointed she’d never hissed or shown her claws to Junko, would sometimes even look up at her own human and blep her tiny tongue as if to take away some of the sting of it, to reassure them that she, and so surely some part of Jon, must have known he was being unfair. They’d seen her hackles raised and flashing claws as needle thin and precise as any of Jon’s words could be, a hissing ball of spite crouched on his shoulder, but never at them, so. As barren as that field had been, with everything that had led Martin to the Archives, that really had been enough for them to nurture and grow their feelings in the beginning. Carefully tended to with every dismissive but somehow still acknowledging flick of her tail to Jon’s own aloofness. 

So he’d known the near silent growl rubbing through her tiny chest wasn’t from the anger he may have once misread it for, not with the way her claws were also kneading at Jon’s shoulder, both of them uncaring or not even noticing when she’d catch and pull at strands of his hair, but from anxiety. He’d seen Jon make the same repetitive motions with his own fingers, pulling at the threads covering his knees, or pressing his thumb rhythmically to one of Anvesha’s paw pads, retracting her claws over and over in a way Martin had always thought looked soothing. Junko’s paws weren’t shaped the same so it didn’t have quite the same motion, but pushing on her rough, working dog’s pad had been comforting all the same when they’d tried to copy. For them it was the comfort of fingers or his face buried in the thick scruff of Junko’s neck that grounded them when they felt anxious, more convenient with a dog of her size. Not that they’d comforted each other in a while. 

Some part of Martin had been grateful that Jon seemed to know, or Know, what trains to take and where to lead them, because he had barely been together enough to focus on the three lightning rod figures keeping him grounded. Jon, who’d come for him, pulled him _out,_ hadn’t let go of Martin’s hand once since they’d left. Anvesha, bushbaby large eyes constantly tracking him. Junko, almost coldly detached but still _there._

He hadn’t even thought to feel the usual embarrassment for, between himself and his daemon, taking up so much space until the carriage was already empty enough that Jon had herded them into their own four seater. Junko sprawled across the two seats opposite, head down and turned away but her ears still visible over the table between them. 

Everything from the frighteningly welcoming emptiness of the morning to stabilising normality of the busy press of commuter bodies had left him exhausted. Or how unfightening it had been, and how destabilising being around people again was. 

After a haze of train stops Martin hadn’t even attempted to take in he’d felt Jon’s fingers flex between his own. As if he’d known, and maybe he had, the second of dizzying terror Martin experienced from that one movement, the selfish buzzing hornets nest of impending pain that Jon would let go and leave him unmoored for even a second, Jon held tighter. Thin but sturdy steel between his fingers. Jon had achingly slowly brought his other hand to join the two they had clutched together, burned and still painful to look at but steady. Only the fingertips had brushed the back of Martin’s hand at first, the skin smoother than that of the one he kept trapped. A gentle question of pressure that had seemed to ask if more would be too much. A rattling keen of soul deep desperate want had been his answer. Jon’s palm held what it could of Martin’s hand, holding it between the two of his own and squeezing for a reassuring second. He’d tipped the knot of fingers fully into that scared cupped palm, replacing those that had filled the spaces from one hand with the other so seamlessly there wasn’t a second Martin’s would be without. He’d absently wondered through the cottonwool haze if the original hand had been too squished and sweaty for Jon to bear, but instead of fully retreating only moved to spread across Martin’s palm. With a gentle pressure Jon pressed his fingertips repeatedly to Martin’s palm. His hand cradled and threaded with one of Jon’s and being kneaded with the other. 

It was only after thinking that the motion looked so similar to how Jon pressed at the pad of Anvesha’s paw that he realised that was exactly what Jon was doing, self soothing and comforting the both of them. He’d barely been able to choke back a sob, finding it in himself to protest a strangled ‘Jon you don’t have-’ that Jon had cut off with a confident and final ‘This is as much for me,’ and that had been that. Anvesha’s anxious rumbling growl slowly gentled into a soft purr before she’d emerged from the tangled disaster of Jon’s hair, leaping to the table and skittering as much as her limp would allow across it. Martin had held his breath for a drawn out moment as she trilled to Junko, the stub of what was left of her tail slowly swaying and one little paw clawing at the air. He’d only released it when Junko gave a single wag of her own tail, shuffling in place and then holding perfectly still as the tiny cat climbed over the bulk of her shoulders to nestle by her ears and purr, kneading without claws. Martin could feel the slight pressure across his own shoulders, or had imagined that he could. He didn’t think their daemons were quietly speaking to each other but wasn’t sure that he’d have been able to tell. Without being conscious of when, Jon and himself had pressed together side by side so close it was as if they were the two halves of one soul, trying to merge back together from two into one whole. He’d been able to feel almost more than hear the quiet ‘you’re here, you’re here’ Jon murmured into the softness of his arm, but that too seemed to be for both of them so he had let it soak into him. And through it all Jon had kept up the comforting ceaseless pressure against and around his hand. 

They hadn’t talked about it long after Jon had finally lifted his head from Martin’s shoulder and decreed they were the next stop and would need to walk some ways to Daisy’s place. His voice had wavered on Daisy's name, Anvesha looking over with a distressed meep, and it had been so natural it had almost not felt like him doing it to press a comforting kiss to their tangle of fingers. It was all he could do. He couldn’t promise that Daisy would be okay. 

Anvesha had stayed perched on Junko’s shoulders even after they’d left the train and began their trek, the Akita moving carefully so not to jostle her tiny passenger as she trotted ahead. Jon had had to return to holding Martin’s hand with only one of his own, but it hadn’t felt like the loss Martin had only thought to fear as it had happened, and instead something in him had settled enough to know it wouldn’t be the last time he’d be held that way. 

After passing through the small village they hadn’t had anything for company but the gentle rustle of evening breeze through the Scottish moors and the call of birds. He hadn’t been able to remember the last time he’d heard them. It was. Nice. Jon keeping up a stream of what they'd need to do to get the house in comfortable order, regardless of whether it was information Basira had told them or just things he Knew, was nicer. There they were, fleeing from the most absolutely evil _bastard_ that Martin could have happily strangled if he didn’t think Elias would enjoy it, and it was some of the best he’d felt in so _long,_ like they were old fashioned beaus taking a turn in the park, getting to know one another while their daemons did the same, talking quietly to each other ahead. The kind of scenario the romantic poet in him had indulgently imagined for years. Or it would have been, if he and Junko could bear to look each other in the eye. 

As they’d trekked steadily up a hill Jon had called to Anvesha to go ahead of them all and check the perimeter, just to be safe. The little cat had disappeared into the steadily darkening night, Junko following for a heartbeat before ultimately hanging back, ahead of them by further than Martin and her had been. Well, _before_ . But still within his eye line. Jon had kept his gaze steadily forward. Martin had seen him and Anvesha stretch the bounds of what was usual for a daemon and a human to part before, but never as far as in that moment. Although again, he had to remind himself, besides when they were in _that_ place. But Jon hadn’t commented on Martin and Junko’s strained behaviour, so he hadn’t said anything then either. Junko had eventually circled back, once again crowding Jon between them. Had even wagged her tail for a moment after Jon greeted her with a sincere slip of a smile and reassured her Anvesha would be fine and he Knew it would be safe, just that he’d known she would feel more steady double checking before the rest of them arrived. 

As the silhouette of a squat building broke up the watercolour wash of sunset turned dusk she’d slipped out of the darkness on silent shuffling paws, the sound of the discovered keys jingling in her tiny jaws the only thing that had announced her returned presence. Maybe at that point it shouldn’t have been surprising that she allowed Junko to give her a cursory check, making sure she wasn’t any more harmed than what had become the usual, the way they’d always wanted to do in the past. Jon has scooped the little cat and keys up in his free hand where she’d deposited them before creeping up to her usual perch at his shoulder to whisper in his ear. 

Once they’d made it into the house, the bulb having taken a moment to warm from a dim glow to something approaching welcoming, by unspoken agreement they all shuffled through the house together. It was as dusty as Jon had promised, but apparently old habits broke harder than he’d thought when Martin could already see how easy it would be to make the safe house somewhere cosy and comfortable. He’d moved to the nook of a kitchen to find tea making implements on autopilot, Jon a tugboat tied at the hand, Anvesha his vigilant passenger and Junko a still somewhat distanced sentinel satellite. That well worn routine, even allowing for the stovetop kettle, had been grounding. Anvesha’s pleased purr as familiar as Jon’s pleased smile and sincere thanks was not yet, but starting to become. Junko’s reserve the new familiar. 

The most important things to accomplish for the evening were shaking out the bedding and putting on fresh linens, figuring out the generator and boiler in the attached shed to get them hot water, and making a meal from Daisy’s survivalists dream of a store cupboard. Jon had half joked that the ancient and temperamental boiler would be a challenge even for the Eye, and Martin had surprised all of them when he’d said Jon should get to it and he’d be fine to start getting the bedroom liveable. Their fingers and eyes had locked for a long moment, the combined weight of Jon and Anvesha’s full attention heady and making the statement true. Jon had smiled his small, crooked but not uncertain smile, like being surprised by Martin was something delightful and precious. They’d finally unwound their fingers, apart for the first time since _then,_ and held each other's gazes as Jon slowly stood and took a step towards the door. Martin had asked ‘making sure I don’t fall apart?’ and Jon had replied ‘making sure _I_ don’t,’ and somehow it seemed neither of them had. 

Yet still they haven't talked about it. Anvesha had scrambled off of Jon and followed nonchalantly at Martin’s heels to the pokey, but they _would_ make it cosy, bedroom. Junko had lingered in the doorway, before turning her back and settling somewhere at the periphery of Martin’s awareness. Daisy had kept the bedding carefully sealed, so it wasn’t as musty as he’d worried it would be, and reaching a hand into each corner of the duvet to grab at the corners of the blanket was another comforting, every-day task that brought him another small step to feeling normal, or at least grounded, again. 

“You’ll feel better when you talk to her.” 

He almost dropped the sheet in surprise at being addressed by the soft, lyrical voice. Anvesha didn’t blink from the perch she’d been watching him from, sat atop the bedside table. She flicked her little mismatched ears at him until he fumbled the blanket back into his hold properly.

“Oh, um. You _Know_ that do you?” he asked, trying to soften the sharp defensiveness with a smile that felt awkward on his face. She trilled and blepped her tongue at him, the awkwardness of the smile instantly growing more real and comfortable there. 

“Not really in the spooky sense, Jon might be able to get a better hold of that answer than me but yes. We know you both, or. We’ve been trying to. Maybe it isn’t my place to stick my nose in,” she conceded, puffing herself up comically to her full height, still barely enough to fill one of Martin’s hands, “but that’s practically our job!”

“Mhmmm, and look where that job’s gotten you,” he countered, spreading his still blanket covered arms in an all encompassing sweeping gesture at the dusty room, the Fears, their lives. When he’d first met Jon she was one of the most beautiful daemons he’d ever seen. Precise markings and glossy coat, intelligent amber eyes that were almost too large for her delicate face, perfectly rounded ears and a slinking, confident stride despite just how uniquely _small_ a cat she was. Life at the institute had left its physical mark on her as obviously as it had Jon. Fur patchy from burns and scars, litheness lost to the same scrawniness of malnourishment he’d felt in Jon’s sharp elbows and ribs. No longer as often stretching the limits of what he used to think was naturally possible to explore her new domain in the archives, but sticking steadily closer and closer to Jon when she could. Ducking her head, averting her gaze, watchful of every corner and cobweb where once she’d unblinkingly face down even the largest of daemons. Although some of that confidence seemed to have returned over the course of the day, still standing despite everything, still determined. They were still the most beautiful pair he’d ever met.

She leapt to the freshly made bed the second he laid the blanket over it, only stumbling for a moment on her injured paw, and bounded her way over the pillowy surface to him, trilling until he joined her on the layered nest of blankets. She wound careful circles in the space around his hand, almost close enough for him to feel the softness of her coat. Jon’s soul a hair's breadth away. 

“It’s gotten us here, with you,” his heart tripped over itself at the fond and matter of fact way she confessed it, “things may be far from ideal, and it isn’t going to be easy, and we know we’ve been the worst in the past but. Once we figured it out, we knew it would be easier with you. If you wanted us to be here.” 

“O-oh well that’s. Yeah. That is what I want. And I think, I mean I’m sure, I am sure Junko would say the same.” 

“She has.”

“Yeah?” 

She stopped her meandering journey to look up at him with her too large amber eyes. Even in the beginning they had seemed to look right into the very heart of him and know what was there.

“I can’t tell you want to do. Well, obviously I _can,_ just as much as anyone is capable of telling anyone else to do things _,_ but that doesn’t mean you have to _listen_ or actually do it. I’m only a little better than Jon at reading a room. Which I’m aware doesn’t say much. For us, it just really helped to learn how to properly talk to each other, after we were severed.” 

It was like being plunged back into _that place_ , but also nothing like it. Where the Lonely had been a muffled yawning chasm now he felt that same bubble of close and awayness but with the added pounding drum of his heart beating in his own ears, the delayed rush of shapeless instinctual horror that _that was what he’d been about to allow to happen._ He scrambled for the over stretched elastic threads of their connection, pounding his fists on the thick, muffling glass erected between them, but from the answering feeling of concern, distant and weak but _there,_ knew he could be heard, that she was still a part of him.

There was the thump of heavy paws on wooden floors and Junko was in the doorway. And they were looking at each other, properly, for the first time that day. She looked the same as she always had, more strong and capable of being imposing than he’d ever wanted his daemon to be. She almost never growled or barked, often tried to make herself smaller and quieter in the same way he always had, but it almost scared him when she did, knowing that that was in him. There was more white in her coat, she’d once been described as a toasted marshmallow god it was _Sasha_ who’d said that and he suddenly hoped desperately it had been the real one, but the same could be said for his own hair. They had the same dark eyes, both taking each other in and yes, he _could_ faintly feel that for all she moved no closer into the room she was as reassured to see him unharmed as he was to see her. Anvesha wasn’t quite soundless as she dropped to the floor, pausing to rub her tiny head as high up Junko’s foreleg as she could reach and give Martin one final fathomless look before slipping from the room. Still he and Junko stared at each other until she finally shook her head with a huff. 

“Jon’s in the kitchen, he’s warming some soup,” were the first words they said to each other in. Some time. And it was soothing to hear that familiar rumbling voice. He hadn’t even thought to miss it until it was back. “I’ll go with her to check the around the house again. I can’t go as far as her,” she reassured, “but we’ll both feel more secure. Safe. I won't be far.” 

“I’ll be here.” 

And then she was gone, again, but now he had a better hold of their connection he could just about feel she was there. Still connected to one another.

Jon was in the kitchen as she’d said, laying steaming bowls of what looked to be tinned tomato soup on the rickety two person table. There was a darker crust around each rim from being in the microwave a little too long, and if the over heated ceramic was burning Jon’s bare hands he didn’t seem to feel it. All the same, Martin gathered up both when he was done, barely brushing his fingertips against his lips. Jon ducked his head bashfully to Martin’s chest, but he could still see the tip of one exposed ear darkening, felt his own face flushing to match. 

“All done then?” Jon asked softly in the quiet kitchen, finally peeking up at Martin, the lines deepening around his eyes with what looked to be happiness. 

“All done. And everything didn’t fall apart?” He smiled back, still adjusting to the urge _to_ smile again. He watched his own fingers release one of Jon’s hands, tucking a wayward lock of hair back behind a reddened ear, adding it to the veritable rats nest that Jon’s hair had become, in a movement that had featured quite prominently in his fantasies. He hadn’t felt like he needed to resist the urge, so he hadn’t. Fancy that. The lines around Jon’s eyes depend further, lips blooming into a cautiously pleased smile. 

“Oh not yet, I sapped every last inch of power from The Eye to get the boiler running so I think we’ll be fine on that front for a while. Things always feel a little better after a hot shower.” 

“You’ve finally learnt that hu, after all those Jonathan Sims Hot Mess Paranoia days?”

“You are the only one who included ‘Hot’ in that title,” Jon said with the good grace to look repentantly embarrassed. 

“I don’t mind a bit of a disheveled man.” 

“Yes, well, there’s disheveled and then there’s _that._ I don’t know how you still. After seeing me like that.” 

“I guess you’re a lucky man.”

“I am.” He said it so plainly, so unexpectedly sincerely in the face of what Martin intended as a joke he could hardly bear it, dropping his own face down to hide in the crown of Jon’s hair for a moment, his face and heart trying to figure out what to do with themselves. 

“You- god, sit down and eat your soup,” he finally mumbled, steering them to the two chairs. 

They kept one hand connected across the table. It didn’t feel like it had during the train journey, where letting go of one another for even a moment would have shaken him apart, left him adrift, ended the world. But it felt nice to stay connected to one another, and Jon easily used his non-dominant hand to ferry his soup. 

“Showing off how capable and ambidextrous you are, unlike the rest of us mere right handed mortals?” It was just so surprisingly easy to tease him right now, despite how newly made this whole being so close to one another connection actually was, like this is what Martin had needed, and could settle back into himself the way he was always meant to fit. Jon smiled again and wheezed a rusty laugh, pausing to twirl his spoon through his soup.

“Well I certainly have to impress you with something. It is actually more highly common in left dominantly handed people-” 

Martin let the gentle patter of Jon’s increasingly in depth explanation rain over him. He’d always found Jon in the middle of an info dump both fascinating to watch and somehow soothing. Jon would have to be at least slightly relaxed to do it, so Martin would only really experience it back when it had just been the four of them, before. Tim or Sasha would set him off on a tangent, and he’d immediately settle into a comfortable lecture mode, Anvesha prowling whatever surface she was on, be it Jon’s desk, the table at a restaurant, Jon’s own shoulder, with her little tail held proudly aloft as he spoke. Martin would watch quietly enraptured, making sure he did nothing to break the tangent, that Jon might continue speaking around him in that more comfortable and confident way, Junko at attention with ears perked forward in interest and tail wagging. Jon would speak with his hands when he could, although right now with one held in Marin’s and the other periodically pausing to scoop up a quick mouthful of soup midstream he instead squeezed Martin’s hand to emphasise the things he found interesting or poignant. 

Martin didn’t even realise he hadn’t touched his own food until the gentle stream of Jon’s words trickled to an eventual stop, the silence pooling until Jon ventured a tentative, “Has this been helping? I just, I know I am not the best at this, and I don’t want to assume a distraction is what you need.” For all that he _had_ been enjoying the cooling balm of Jon’s chatter, a distraction was what it had been. The easier familiar of wanting to watch Jon exist eclipsing the stirrings of anxiety that had him reaching to pull periodically at that gossamer thin thread of connection to Junko.

They just, still haven't spoken about it.

“It, yeah. It has been.” 

“Ah. Good. I can keep-?”

“No, it’s alright. I should probably, you know, deal with some things.”

“It doesn’t have to be right now.”

“Anvesha was a bit more forceful about it.”

“Yes well, we’re trying to work on that. Us both thinking we know what’s best. Talking, to others, and each other. It’s a journey with plenty of rough terrain to cover but we want to try. I know we were pretty awful, especially to you.” 

“You were- Okay yeah, sometimes kind of the worst. I can see that though, that you were trying at the end. Our terrible luck that it mostly happened right when I had to stay away. And hey, Anvesha was _less_ bad.”

“True. She _was_ the one knocking your pens under the bookshelves and running off with your post-it notes. She knew all she had to do was stick her little tongue out and you'd forgive all her crimes.”

“I can’t help that you have an adorable daemon Jon. And you do it too when you’re thinking, so you're pretty evenly matched.”

“I-What? I’ve never,” he dropped the spoon to cover his mouth, like he could take back every instance of it ever happening “even if I did, which I _do not,_ I’ll have to make sure not to going forward. I just, don’t want to make it too easy for you to forgive me.” 

“You know that I already do Jon.” It wasn’t so much an admittance as a statement of bone deep truth. 

“I know. So I need to make sure that I actually _earn_ it.” Jon’s thumb brushed over his knuckles, firm enough not to tickle but still oh so gentle. He’d never really had someone treat him like he was worth being gentle with, like he could be something precious. He pressed his thumb to the base of Jon’s forefinger in reply, short pulses that really were soothing. He could tell Jon would let him decide where the conversation would go, that if Martin really didn’t want to talk about it they wouldn’t step where they’d tentatively started to tread. But it would sit there like an open wound in Martin’s head, and he’d had enough of letting those fester. 

“Anvesha also said. Y-you don't have to- She said you two were,” he choked around the horror of the word and all that it meant, “that you were severed?” Jon’s eyes flicked away for a second, lashes lowered over the dark smudges under his eyes. When had either of them last slept? But he didn’t pull away, only mustered a half smile before looking back at Martin with a nod and a resolved ‘Yes.’ “God, Jon I’m. I thought your connection was just, stretched, like ours is but. She’s still there, I can still just about feel her, Jon when did it? Not, not when you- ” A moment of dawning horror left him paralysed, heart juddering with sickening shame. 

“No, Martin, not when we followed you into the Lonely,” and Martin could move again, his hand clasping Jon’s wrist in what felt like a stronger unbreakable chain, “it was some time before that. I. Don’t know if it will make you feel worse to hear but, if that’s what it would have taken to bring you both back then we would have.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t, Jon-” his voice wavered and broke. Between one shuddering breath and the next Jon was moving around the table, hovering for a moment at his side before scrambling across Martin’s lap, his arms wrapping around the bulk of Martin’s shoulders and for all they were hardly more than thin twigs they seemed to be holding Martin together. They held for a time.

“I can tell you about it, if you’d like. But you should really eat a little bit Martin, hunger isn’t going to help your energy levels.” The mild amusement that it was _Jon_ telling _him_ to eat, after every strategically placed plate of biscuits or fruit campaign Martin had gone on to get Jon to eat _something,_ gave him the power to nod his agreement and thanks. He didn’t feel hungry, could hardly stomach the thought of food, but knew he hadn’t eaten anything since the sandwich Jon had handed him at some point along their journey, consumed on autopilot. And it did feel easier that way, with an arm tucked around Jon pressing them close together but with Jon’s face pressed to his neck, where Martin wouldn’t have to control his expression. 

“Our connection had been a bit...strange, since our first interaction with the Web. I did not step through the door, but she could feel our bond beginning to unravel like fraying threads with every step I took towards it. She settled in that final form she’d taken as I had been about to take that final step. Ultimately we left the experience intact, if settled younger than average and able to unspool our connection past the more regular limits of a typical human daemon pair. Which suited us just fine. We were both inquisitive by nature, and she was happy to roam that little bit further than most could, explore where I could not. 

It was not until the Unknowing that the bond between us was finally severed, something during that chaotic ritual severing us for good. I Know seeing her curled up in the hospital bed under my hand, despite the hive of flatlining machines cocooning my catatonic body is what fuelled your hope more than the silent breaths I took, that you were almost certain she sometimes seemed to have moved between visits, that the few times you let yourself fall asleep in the uncomfortable metal chair by my bed Junko would feel her eyes on her, watching. 

Anvesha had time to come to terms with what we had become long before I finally woke, alone in my own mind if not for the still vivid dreams of those whose statements I had taken. We wondered if she was expected to have left, leave on her own quest of discovery, to speak to those daemons and go to those places I could not yet reach. Instead, we realised what _we_ wanted, what we needed, was to learn to grow closer to one another. We had been parted, but we could still draw strength from one another, love each other, together try to understand better. Learn and know each other and ourselves in a new way. We can Know one another if we really wanted to, but it could never be the same as before, not with the Eye that silent leering conduit to any connection. But the more we spoke to one another, tore down the barriers we had built even between each other, the less we needed to use it to just know one another. Progress can be slow going, but over time we have been growing more comfortable with the decisions we have been making. Oh for- why’re _you_ here?” 

Martin’s consciousness jolted back as Jon’s voice lost the hauntingly melodic cadence he recognised from the recordings, that enthralling quality it took on when a tape recorder was purring in his presence and consuming his every word. Martin duly noted that at least he’d eaten his food on autopilot during the experience as Jon shuffled in his lap, finally producing a tape recorder from his pocket. 

“Damn. Martin I’m so sorry, I had no idea this was on me and I just slipped into it, I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Jon assured him, ejecting the tape and jabbing at the off switch.

“It’s okay Jon. And, thanks. For telling me. It’s kind of beautiful- well I mean it’s awful. But that you still sort of, chose each other. I feel a bit, proud of you? If that isn’t strange to say.”

“No, that actually means a lot, especially from you Martin,” he said with quiet warmth.

Martin laid down the spoon he was still clutching and replaced it with Jon’s hand, gently pressing his thumb to the base of each finger in turn. “I guess I feel a bit uncertain. Yeah, I know, fresh off of an extended stint with Captain Lonely and an all inclusive trip to his sad-a-thon minimalist man cave so it’s understandable but. I just didn’t feel as unsure of myself, I mean I didn’t feel much of _anything_ , but not having to feel _that_ especially was sort of. Not the worst. For me. ” He sighed, tired but determined, “I do want to figure this out again though. Myself, and the rest that comes with it.”

“I want to be here for that too, and help in any way that I can. I just don’t want for you to feel uncertain about me and about how I feel. If that’s what you want.”

“It is Jon. You know, it’s kind of funny, but you’re pretty much the only thing I have felt certain about all day? After everything, it didn’t even occur to me not to be. I didn’t want to let go in case, I dont know, I was somehow pulled back in or something but. It was just like hey, here’s Jon, he led me out of _there_ and he’s right here holding my hand and he’s just. Going to keep trying to be right here holding it if I want him to. Which I do.” He could feel a slight dampness against his neck and threaded their fingers together. It should have felt silly, that if they stood now they’d look like they were poised to waltz, but it just felt _warm_ after so long of nothing but cold. “I guess Basira complaining about how often you were begging to see me, and asking how I was kind of helped tip me off too.”

Jon huffed his wheezing little laugh and pressed closer. “Well, we can’t all use the time honoured medium of poetry for our pining.” 

Eventually they had to extract themselves, washing and drying their bowls, not needing to touch but staying in arms reach all the same. The quiet shuffle of paws announced their daemons return, Martin trying to be nonchalant about checking over his shoulder that they were both there. Anvesha was playfully weaving her way around Junko’s legs, the Akita taking each step carefully to avoid crushing the small cat but wagging her tail. His heart felt heavy watching them, but in a way that was born from a fullness it had never experienced, that he’d never truly expected to have.

Readying themselves for bed was carried out in the same close orbit. He hadn’t noticed he was drumming his fingers against the ceramic of the sink until Jon’s smoothed over them, replacing them with a half ancient comb from Daisy’s medicine cabinet. If Jon had figured out, or just Knew, the many fantasies he had entertained about brushing his hair Martin couldn’t bring himself to feel embarrassed. Most likely he recognised when someone needed to do something with their hands. The careful, repetitive pull of the comb helped smooth out the knots of Jon’s hair and Martin’s thoughts alike. 

Even after they settled against each other in the bed, both coming together with the certainty that this was how they wished to sleep and probably how they would always want to sleep from now on, Martin let his fingers run through the now silky strands. By how quickly the gentle motions lulled Jon to sleep it must have been a long time since the last time he had rested. He’d be more surprised if it hadn’t been. 

By mutual agreement they’d left the hallway light on, and through the muted glow and swirl of dust motes in the air he could see their daemons over Jon’s head. 

While they’d been exchanging the occasional glance, Junko had settled in a close but distant curl closer to the door, Anvesha joining her after raking her tiny claws against Jon’s socks as he’d climbed into the bed. He had known before looking that Juno was grooming the little cat settled between her paws. Suddenly it wasn’t enough to help either of them, not knowing _they still haven't spoken about it_.

It still almost surprised him, how easy it was to let go of Jon and slip from the bed, moving as carefully as he could so not to wake him. Somehow there wasn’t the fear that he was leaving, that he’d return to find himself Alone, but that they were just extending that orbit, that even with added distance would remain in each other's gravitational pull. He squeezed Jon’s hand one last time before moving away, Junko watching him with understanding eyes as she too stood and stretched. As they left the room he could hear Jon utter a soft questioning noise in his sleep, Anvesha answering with her own subconscious trill of reassurance. 

He settled at the mouth of the house, legs outside in the chilled night air, the evening mist creeping over the hills. It reminded him of being in the Lonely, but some part of him could still feel Jon’s presence like a beating heart at the centre of the cabin. Maybe it was a leftover ‘gift’ from that place, a way to make avoiding people easier, but now it was only reassuring to know he was there. Junko joined him, finding just enough space to lay her body next to his, head cushioned on her paws. Closer than they’d been all day. He could follow their tired but intact connection to its core, where they’d be able to just know what one another were thinking and feeling. Instead he sighed and looked at that part of his soul, settled beside him.

“I don’t know how to feel about what happened. I didn’t even think about it. I knew what would happen, that we’d have been parted forever if I went through with it and kept going but. It wasn’t even something I felt enough to care about. That it would hurt us, hurt me.”

She huffed a tired breath. “I was just as willing to let you go. And I didn’t feel anything about it when it was happening either. It’s what we agreed we needed to do, letting ourselves drift from each other for months.”

“I know. And I know at first we told ourselves that Peter just had something small for a daemon-”

“-goldfish in a bag-” 

“-mosquito-”

“- _dung_ beetle-”

“-a flee. But. Even after we realised he didn’t. That the arctic fox trailing after Elias wasn’t his daemon but _Peters,_ that they didn’t even want to be around each other, didn’t even have a _bond_ anymore it still changed nothing.” Of course they had discussed their plan to work closer with Peter Lukas at its inception, but over time as more of what it would entail had come to light it had become an unspoken understanding, and then an apathetic resignation. Admitting it aloud made it more real, but also shifted something heavy and splintered away. 

“I asked Anvesha, about that. Peter became part of the Forsaken and entered the...the Lonely before they’d even settled. When we thought we’d seen Elias in his office with a seal, or a polar bear, that was _her_. I remember thinking she must have been so dismissive of Peter because for all him and Elias played weird little games with each other there wasn’t any actual regard there, but she just didn’t want to look at the other half of herself. Or couldn’t bear it. And that could have been us.”

“We’ve hardly been able to look at each other all day. I just. Don’t know that I’m sorry, and I don’t know how to deal with that.”

“It’s what we needed to do to help them. I’d do it again too,” she let out a mournful whine, “I almost hated you though, for some of it, when I was feeling anything. Myself, too” 

“I don’t blame you for that, not when it was the same for me. I know I spent a lot of time wishing you had settled smaller, that we didn’t both take up so much space. That we’d be easier to hide in a crowd. And when we realised what we needed to do I hated that you’re an Akita and not. I don’t know, at least a less independent breed. It was like we were made to be alone the same way we’ve always been, and some part of you knew this would happen one day and were just a reminder of that. Like it was meant to make it easier.” A dam that had been building for so long finally broke, and with it came the first tears he’d shed that day. Junko scrambled to her feet, finally pressing her cold nose to his cheek and whining pitifully while he quietly shook, both hands buried in the scruff of fur at her neck, their weakened bond flaring with their mutual anguish, but drowning it was the force of their _love._

“But you were still always _there_ even when I didn’t think I cared if you’d leave or not. You’re so loyal and strong and I love that about you, you saw the plan through to the end with me. I can’t be sorry that we did it, but I’m sorry how much it hurt us,” he cried.

“That’s why I _am_ what I am, because you’re those things too. You endured and persevered, and we did it! We made our plan, we fooled both of those horrible awful men, we won _and_ we got away with it.”

“We did, didn’t we? They thought we were just, just dumb lap dogs who’d come to heel and follow their stupid orders but we showed them!” 

Junko tossed her head back and let a deep rumbling howl out into the night, the sound reverberating through both their chests and suddenly he was laughing loud and long with her, the two of them letting themselves be heard, filling the silent space, taking a slice of the night for themselves. That hollow place in his heart warmed with a renewed, hard won confidence. He had cared enough to do what needed to be done, cared enough to get through something difficult, and against his expectations he’s come out the other end with a desire to care still burning in his heart. They couldn’t be healed in one evening, and things wouldn’t ever be the same again. But they weren’t, _he_ wasn’t the same person anymore. And that could be okay. They’d figure it out, all of them. Together.

They stayed pressed close under the stars a little longer, her tail beating a rhythmic thump against his side to the beat of their shared heartbeat, his hands running comfortingly through her scruff. When he finally lifted himself from the floor he noticed two little glowing eyes watching them from behind the ragged sofa. They ducked away for a second, maybe in embarrassment, before creeping closer when all he did was smile. 

“Jon said to leave you be but I just wanted to make sure.” Anvesha was limping heavier in the cold chill of the night but skittered quickly to Junko, standing on back paws to pull her willing head down and groom one of Junko’s ears. She’d done something similar only once before. Jon had held himself aloof, hands folded together and expression hardly changed. His words and tone were what had softened, so quick and willing to tell Martin they could stay in the Archives if it would make him feel safer. Junko hadn’t then known what Anvesha had wanted, but ducked her head all the same at her command, the little cat stretching to hold her face for a moment between her front paws in a way that had steadied the both of them as much as Jon’s words had. 

“We’ll be fine, we’re not going anywhere,” Junko assured her now, licking one broad stripe across the dome of her tiny head. 

Jon was still curled up under the nest of blankets like something Martin couldn’t have dreamed, hair an already tangled spill across the sheet, eyes lined from bone deep exhaustion, but still waiting and reaching for him. Awake and soft and warm and inviting.

Junko vaulted onto the bed before he could, nosing her way into Jon’s arms with a confidence that said she knew she belonged there. The quiet ‘oh’ Jon exhaled barely penetrated the quiet, and he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her scruff. Martin could feel the soft gentle pressure against his own chest, a warm glow pressing against his own heart. At his feet Anvesha purred, craning to see before turning those bushbaby large eyes up to him, blinking slowly. He reached without even a moment to second guess himself, palm open and allowing her to take the final steps into the cradle of his hand, tiny heart beating a rapid rhythm against his fingers through her downy soft fur. He wondered if their hearts still beat as one, and climbed into bed to slide a hand between the weight of Junko’s chest and Jon’s to confirm that yes, they did. He’d been willing to give up all of them if it had been needed, and could hardly bear the joy of realising he didn't have to. 

Together they settled in a comfortable press of warmth, his fingers tangling with Jon’s with the certainty of the returning tide.

"We aren't crushing you?" he checked, whispering the words against Jon’s temple. 

"No, I'm perfect, Martin," he replied just as quietly.

"Good. That’s good, I just worry a bit since you, you know - hey, wait!” he reared back to tiredly squint at Jon, Anvesha meeping in protest at being jostled, “why did you remove two of your ribs when you could have left your unattached daemon, who is very much an anchor seeing as she’s, you know, the other half of your _being,_ on top of the box Jon? Two _ribs_ ? I know you don't do these things _just_ to give me heart palpitations but sometimes-"

"At the time we weren't sure it would actually work for us, anymore. If it would be enough. And she'd wanted to go in too, to help search."

"....okay. But no more stunts like that. _Two_ ribs Jon!"

"You were hardly stable in a stiff breeze as it was," Junko added to Anvesha’s delight, her laugh as rusty and sweet as Jon’s. 

"Oh it's the bully Jon hours is it?" he complained with quiet amusement, pausing to yawn. “I could say the same about you and that whole strong, self sacrificing, courageous and incredibly brave, putting yourself on the front line thing you do.” 

Martin had to hold himself together for a moment before he joyfully shook apart, let the words layer over the cracked foundations he had already begun rebuilding for himself. 

“Not that I know what it's like to care about a self sacrificing fool who runs head first into danger, mhmm wouldn’t know that feeling if it threw its own rib at me,” he finally wobbled out, mostly just to hear Jon’s sleepy puff of laughter again. 

“Yes yes okay, point very much taken. We try our best not to do anything else too worrying, and if we do happen to run into any more danger, well, we face it together.” 

With that as good as promised they resettled, Anvesha’s tranquil purr starting its work against his quietened but still gently buzzing thoughts. The tiredness was all consuming, but still he couldn’t quite let himself give in to it, restlessly shifting their hands to press his thumb to the pad of each of Jon’s fingertips in turn. 

“Is he still watching us?”

Jon hummed for a moment, maybe reaching out with his power. Finally answered, “I can't tell, either he's obscuring the Archives, or the Eye doesn't want me to know.”

“Creep. And when you....did Peter's daemon disappear, too?” 

“The same problem I'm afraid,” Anvesha replied this time after a similar pause. “You should both try and sleep, _you_ were always the one trying to get us to do more of that,” she added, kneading her tiny paws in Martin’s hair. 

“Yeah, I know....Does Elias, or Johna or whatever, actually have his own daemon? I guess he'd need a soul for that.” Martin couldn’t help but ask, the question was one he had been mulling over for a while. 

“The former Elias Bouchard's Daemon is caught in a pendant around his neck, but Jonah Magnus' daemon can travel at will and usually slithers through the tunnels of the institute. I’ve seen the smug creature a few times” she answered, stretching and unconcernedly walking across both Martin and then Jon’s faces to reach Junko. 

The Akita’s muffled amusement was what broke the new contemplative quiet, her tail thumping against Jon’s back, horror and glee faintly reaching Martin and filling him with the same. “He, this whole time, we've been working for some kind of _Voldemort.”_

“ _You’re right,_ that’s, this is the worst! Like, it does explain all the nose jobs in Peter's expenses but, what, it's been the chamber of secrets all along? Don’t laugh at me Jon this is literally the _worst_ thing, were we meant to just, just bounce his own eyes back at him? Next you'll tell me it's the power of love that would have defeated him.” 

Jon’s laughter only trickled off as he pushed his body into Martin’s until he was on his back, Jon hovering and smiling down at him. His lips were parted into a full grin, and it sat there more comfortably than Martin had ever expected one would. His eyes were shining with delight as he cupped both hands around Martin’s cheeks, like seeing and hearing Martin and his daemon’s amusement was the most precious thing in the world.

“It rather does feels like love could defeat anything, with you here now.” And like he hadn’t stolen Martin’s breath he settled himself down over Martin’s bulk, fitting his brittle bird bones against Marin’s soft spaces until his entire slight weight was laying over Martin, unspooling the last of the tension that had been thrumming through him. 

“ _Jon,”_ he finally moaned around the lump in his throat, “I just. Can't get used to you just _saying_ things like that.”

“Don't worry, he's still running off the high of you both escaping and being here together. Tomorrow he'll be back to stodgy and awkward.” Anvesha pipped up, their daemons shuffling closer until they were all taking up even less of the bed but all the more content for it. 

“No, you've gone and set the bar for emotional availability.” He carefully tangled his fingers through Jon’s hair, wary of any new knots. Couldn’t stop himself, didn’t feel like he _needed_ to stop himself, from bringing some of the still silky strands to his lips lips in an indulgent kiss. He could finally let the covers of sleep settle over him. Jon’s fingers curled around his shoulder. 

“I promise I’ll try to live up to it. All the love I’m capable of is yours, if you want it.”

“Only if you want me to love you the same.” 

It was almost strange to hear love spoken aloud. They may not have actually said it to each other until this moment, not with words, yet it felt like they've been saying it all day, since the moment Jon asked _Martin, look at me._ It has been there in every breath. 

Still, there was something to be said for hearing it aloud. 

“I know it won't be enough to fix everything-”

“It doesn't need to fix _anything_. It can just be. That’s enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leap frogged over the 3 lonelyeyes fics I'm half way through to bring you this ^^;
> 
> I've been thinking too had about the lonely eyes companion to this fic, so I'm likely to return with that 
> 
> For Nemo, Alexa and Kath <3


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